Viper

by Bex Hogan

  Torin sits on an uncomfortable-looking stone slab and watches me carefully. ‘Do you believe in magic?’

  ‘I’ve seen no evidence of it.’ I don’t know why I lie, and as the words come out of my mouth I have to try hard not to think of what I saw with Tomas, the very real magic that spun right before my eyes, or of the magic in the earth that Joren once opened my heart to – before my father scorched it from existence.

  ‘Well, I do,’ Torin says. ‘And everything I’ve read in these accounts confirms that belief. The healing potions we have now are nothing compared to what we once had. Magic was synonymous with the whole of the Twelve Isles, not just the West, and Mages were the true advisors to all the royalty. And we destroyed it when we turned on ourselves. We lost a valuable part of our essence.’ His voice is raised, such is the passion of his convictions.

  ‘How did we destroy it?’

  ‘I think you need to find out for yourself. What I will say is this – unity is essential for magic to exist in our lands. And we haven’t had unity of any kind for the longest time.’ Torin pauses before he fixes his beautiful eyes on me. ‘But I think you are something of an alchemist, am I right? You’re drawn to the little magic that remains, wherever it lurks?’

  I’m shaken by how well he reads me when he is still such a mystery to me. ‘I can make the odd tonic.’ It’s all I can bring myself to say.

  ‘Read the books, Marianne. Learn your history, then – and only then – decide what your future should be.’

  ‘All right,’ I agree. ‘But I’m promising nothing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask you to. I’ve spent my whole life trying to free myself from someone who told me what to do and how to behave.’

  The sadness that so often surfaces in him is so palpable it hurts. ‘Your father is a coward,’ I say, reaching to touch Torin’s arm. ‘You are far stronger than he is.’

  Torin’s hand covers mine. ‘Perhaps. But when I was a child he beat me to stop me crying and bullied me into believing that caring was weakness. He taught me that love was a flaw, that compassion was a failing, and that kindness was irrelevant. I’ve been a disappointment to him in every way, and though I have no regrets about who I am, sometimes that truth is hard to bear.’

  I squeeze his fingers. I know exactly how the conflict tastes. ‘You will convince him to abdicate, Torin, and you will rule the East justly. And as your wife and the Viper I will be there to support you every step of the way.’ I pause, trying to ignore the twinge of sadness I feel pledging myself to him this way when I love another. But it hurts to breathe when I think of Bronn, and so I force myself to carry on. ‘There will be unity once more. We don’t need the West to achieve our peace.’

  A tear slides down Torin’s face as he brings my fingers to his lips. ‘And as your husband and ally I will be proud to rule by your side.’

  I spend the next few weeks buried in the manuscripts. Grace keeps me company from time to time, but she knows I prefer solitude and so often comes just to bring me food and water.

  At first I read nothing new. But then I discover one tome with diagrams of anatomy – human anatomy – which fill in some of the blanks from my own research. I get entirely distracted by drawings outlining the differences between veins, arteries, tendons and nerves, the fibrous web spun inside us. Someone has taken the time to dissect a heart, describing it in such visceral detail that it’s easy to imagine the ink is the very blood that once flowed through it. Birds, rats, she-wolves – none of them are quite the same as seeing these sketches of the inner workings of humans, which further my understanding of healing.

  But this is not why I’m here, and I have to tear myself away to focus on learning about the West. The more I read, the more secrets I uncover buried within the pages, secrets that tell a different story to the lore I’ve been taught. And the more I learn, the more incensed I become.

  We’ve been lied to.

  When people tell tales of the past they all say the same thing: that the wicked Westerners abused the strength of magic and made it a weapon, a means to harm others – while the peaceful Easterners relied on magic for medicine and maintaining the balance of nature so crops would flourish. That was why the West’s attack on us was so villainous, so violent, and why such extreme measures were taken by our king to defend us when the West came to steal our resources for themselves. It’s what we’ve all been told.

  These books are filled with documents and accounts that expose that story for what it is: an appropriation of history by the East to hide its own sordid past. A twisted piece of propaganda to conceal its crimes.

  The books tell a different story, one of powerful Mages from West and East, who fought alongside one another for centuries, against threats from the Largeland in the north. Magic united all twelve islands, and though few were able to harness it, those who could advised kings and queens from both of the royal families, and balance was kept.

  But there was one difference between Eastern and Western royalty. The Western bloodline seemed to possess a natural proclivity towards magic, whereas the Eastern bloodline did not. And the Eastern King grew jealous.

  Fifteen generations ago, Torin’s ancestor was a monster. It wasn’t Gormand of the West who was the destroyer. It was Davin of the East.

  Davin became enraged to the point of madness that he was not the most powerful man in all the Twelve Isles, resentful that he was not chosen to be gifted with magic. He became obsessed with the idea that Gormand and the Mages would rise up to overthrow him. And so he purged the Eastern Isles of all magic.

  Those in the East with a magical inclination were rounded up and slaughtered, preferably burned alive to ensure the thorough elimination of any lingering magic, though a lucky few escaped and fled to the West. But then Davin sent his Viper to kill the Western royalty and the West fell. The remaining Mages hid in the ruins of the West, while Davin was content that in his Six Isles, at least, there was no one left to challenge him. He had proved he didn’t need magic to be powerful, that the Mages were no threat to him. And the magic has remained dormant ever since, with no one left to harness it.

  The West didn’t start the war. The East did. It is nothing short of a betrayal that the truth has been buried in this way. I’m not sure what destroys me more: that the East has been deprived of its magic for so many centuries, or that the West has been so demonised by the side ultimately responsible for it all.

  Re-educated, the next things I discover among the ancient texts are the books about magic. When I first pick one up and realise what I’m holding in my hand I hesitate. Somehow I know they are waiting for me to find them. And that if I open them, everything will change.

  Terrified and thrilled, I start to read, desperate to immerse myself in knowledge.

  With the same urgency that I delved into the she-wolf for answers I devour book after book, searching for the key to harness the power I long for.

  Because if I can unlock the magic I’ve known runs in my veins since that day on the Floral Island, I might just stand a chance. My father is powerful, almost impossibly so. But this . . . this could even our odds, could enable me to protect people . . . to avenge people.

  There is so much I can’t translate or understand, but I drink in whatever I can. Book after book mentions the water raptors, and how they were used in the distant past to protect the Twelve Isles. The more I read about them, the more intrigued I become. There are many passages devoted to how they can be summoned, some that I can translate, others I can’t, and whole sections explaining how the Mages struggled to control these dangerous creatures until they became more of a liability than anything else. I’m beginning to think that Grace is right, that the raptors were somehow linked to the royalty, and that it should have been the king or queen who commanded the raptors, their royal blood a more powerful bond between land and sea than anything the Mages could conjure.

  And if I’m right? If I can accept what Grace and Torin say, that I am royalty . . . could I one day wield such c
reatures to wreak my own revenge?

  On and on I read, the chamber providing a never-ending supply of material to fuel my growing desire. Every new snippet of information, every hint of magic exhilarates me and feeds my appetite for knowledge, the desperate longing to harness the ability to make me strong.

  I am entirely bewitched.

  After several days, Grace brings me some cold broth and tries to persuade me to leave the cave for a while. ‘I think Torin’s beginning to regret showing you this place,’ she says, only half joking.

  ‘I just wish I could make more sense of this,’ I say, thrusting a page into her face. ‘Can you understand any of it? I think it’s an ancient language used by the Mages. I’ve worked out some of the words, but if I could translate it all . . .’

  ‘It’s history,’ she says, her voice sharp. ‘Informative it may be, but there is no more magic and you are no Mage. I understand the desire to escape your reality by losing yourself in this place, but don’t forget who you are. And what your fight is.’

  I put the book down, feeling the truth of her words sting. I have been more than willing to forget everything outside these walls, have been seduced by the temptation within, and shame pinks my cheeks.

  ‘I heard from Bronn,’ Grace says, her voice softer now. ‘He asked after you.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘The truth. That you’re miserable.’

  I stare at her, wondering again at her perception. For all my excitement at discovering the ancient texts, she has seen the deep unhappiness buried within me. A bleak bloom of grief and fear. ‘You shouldn’t have. He’ll only worry.’

  Grace sighs. ‘Perhaps he should. I do. I’ve barely seen you since you’ve had your nose in these books. I thought you wanted to stop your father. I thought that was why we were here?’

  ‘It was!’ I’m suddenly angry with her. ‘But they want to wait, Grace! They want to bide their bloody time and I can’t bear to just sit with them and their stupid smug faces while my father plots his next atrocity.’ I take a breath, trying to calm myself. I know I’m being unreasonable. ‘Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased I was learning all about my Western heritage.’

  ‘Don’t mistake me for a fool,’ she says. ‘It’s the magic you’re interested in, always has been. Maybe it’s my fault, feeding you those stories, but I know why you trailed Milligan around all those years and why you smuggled dead birds to your cabin. I’m not blind, Marianne.’

  I’m so surprised she knows all this that I splutter out my reply. ‘I wanted to learn how to heal . . .’

  ‘Exactly! You wanted to learn how to heal, not to be a healer. Not all healers became Mages but all Mages started out as healers, and it’s a Mage you’ve always longed to be. You just didn’t know it.’

  I have no idea what to say, I’m stunned by her words.

  Grace sighs as she comes to sit beside me and takes my hand. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn about things you don’t understand, and maybe one day you will become the first Mage of a new era, but right now we’re still at war. I need to know if you’re in this fight with us, or if I’ve lost you to a dream.’

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I swear there’s magic in this room, an enchantment that’s taken hold of me, whispering to the darkest corner of my soul. But of course Grace is right. Now is not the time to lose sight of what has to be done, no matter how much I wish to avoid it. ‘I’m still in this fight.’ It’s barely a whisper.

  Grace clasps my hand tighter. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m still in this fight.’ The words are more certain now and Grace’s eyes sparkle once more.

  ‘Good. Because we can’t do this without you.’ She pauses. ‘We need you.’

  I know Grace well enough to know what that really means and lean over to pull her into a tight embrace. ‘I need you too.’

  The door bursts open with such force that we both jump. Sharpe is there, out of breath, his eyes wide. ‘Come quickly.’

  Grace and I are already on our feet, running with him through the gloomy passage.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s been another attack.’

  Damn my father. Though I might have been happy to forget about him, he certainly hasn’t forgotten about me.

  ‘Which island?’

  Sharpe turns to look at me, and the fear is written all over his face. ‘This one.’

  By the time I arrive in the great cave Torin has already assembled his men. An injured woman sits slumped against one of the standing stones and I run over to check if she’s OK.

  She’s not. Blood slowly ebbs out from her abdomen, her hand that once held pressure on it now flopped to the side. There’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do for her. But her eyes are open and she’s muttering under her breath.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I say, taking her bloody hand in mine. ‘You’re safe.’

  ‘The Viper,’ she says in a fragile whisper. ‘The Viper.’ She’s repeating it over and over.

  A hand rests on my shoulder and it’s Torin, ready for war. ‘Come. You can’t save her.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Out to the settlement.’

  I’m on my feet. ‘You think he’s still there?’

  Torin nods. ‘This woman spoke of an attack on the main settlement. She fled almost immediately, but not before receiving her injuries. We must go to their aid.’

  Grace is thrusting a knife into my belt and a pistol into my hand. Fear is spiking adrenaline around my body, but this is what I wanted. A chance to face my father on land. And I’m ready. Ready to end this.

  As I join the King’s Guard making their way quickly out of the cavern, I realise Torin isn’t with us and glance back to see him with Sharpe. They are having a heated conversation, clearly arguing about something and it ends with Torin raising his voice so that I can hear it even from this distance.

  ‘That’s an order!’

  Sharpe looks like he’s been slapped. Wounded, he backs down, and Torin strides over to join me.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I ask, even though it’s clearly not. In fact, I’ve never seen Torin so riled.

  ‘I told him to protect the council.’

  No wonder Sharpe was annoyed. A skilled soldier, he’s wasted being left to mind civilians, and I wonder why Torin’s made that choice.

  My silence must reveal my confusion because Torin adds, ‘Someone has to stay behind.’ He’s being defensive, and I put his mood down to anxiety. Knowing the Viper is slaughtering the people you’ve sworn to protect is enough to put anyone on edge.

  There are no horses to ride here, the terrain in no way compatible with livestock, and so we run as fast as we can towards the settlement, my guilt prickling as it reminds me I’d forgotten all about these desperate people struggling to pick up the pieces of their ruined lives. While I’ve been reading, my father, like a bloodhound, has sought out the weak, the vulnerable, and has come to finish them off.

  The sun is beating down on us and I’m sweating long before we come upon the scene of carnage. The settlement is a battleground. The members of the King’s Guard that Torin assigned to defend the civilians are fighting valiantly, but their numbers are badly depleted. Bodies are strewn everywhere, and screams claw in my ears as unarmed men and women try in vain to save themselves.

  Our fresh regiment swoops in, targeting anyone in Snakes’ blacks. My eyes look around for my father, desperate to find him before he finds me. But a cry for help distracts me and I run to where a young woman is lying on the ground. It’s immediately clear her wounds are fatal; she’s bleeding all over but somehow is still alive. I crouch beside her, anxious to be fighting, to punish my father for this savage butchery, but unable to ignore my instinct to heal.

  ‘My son,’ she whispers, as if all her remaining breaths have been used to summon my aid. ‘Help him.’

  I look to the child beside her. The frail body has already emptied itself of bloo
d, and lies motionless beside her. I think of Tomas and grief burns my throat so fiercely I could scream.

  ‘Help him,’ she begs.

  What can I do? Though we’re surrounded by violence I move to kneel beside her dead son and press my hand to the wound at his neck, as if somehow I can reverse what has been done. I offer her a false smile, something to reassure her that he’ll be OK now, that she has saved him, and I hate myself for it.

  ‘Don’t let him die,’ she says, a tear spilling down her cheek.

  ‘I won’t,’ I say, the lie coming far too easily. ‘He’s safe now, you both are.’

  The woman nods, her breathing slower, and I just have to wait, keeping up this pretence until she dies. But I don’t stop looking. Looking for the man responsible for all of this.

  The longer I look, though, the longer I sense something’s not right. It takes a while to figure out what it is. The way the Snakes are moving is wrong. The way their faces are covered. A horrible wave of uncertainty spreads through me as I desperately hope I’m not right. The moment the poor woman dies, I remove my hand from her son, and silently offering them my apologies I race to the nearest fallen Snake and pull his mask down.

  I have never seen him before in my life. It’s possible my father’s taken on new recruits, so I run and check another one. And another one. And another one until there’s no doubt.

  ‘Grace!’ I scream her name as I search for her. ‘Torin!’

  My eyes finally rest on Grace, who is bludgeoning her enemy in his gut, and I sprint over to her. ‘Grace, they’re bandits! They’re not Snakes.’

  She pauses as it takes a moment for my words to sink in. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t recognise any of them.’

  ‘But why would . . .’ She trails off, looking at their clothing in confusion.

  ‘He wants us to think they’re Snakes. He wants us to think he’s here.’

  It’s finally getting through to her. I can see the dread building in her eyes.

  ‘We have to find Torin.’

  Torin is triumphantly defending a huddle of unarmed people, our ‘victory’ almost complete, and he’s not expecting our frantic appearance as we tell him the awful truth.